


Sacrifice

by IronWoman359



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Restraints, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronWoman359/pseuds/IronWoman359
Summary: It’s been over a lifetime since the priests of the Harvest God demanded a human sacrifice. But this year, they’ve called for a young man with a pure heart to appease the god…which does not bode well for Patton.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 186





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The whole group just wrecking havoc in order to rescue their kidnapped teammate and crying together with Patton?

Patton had never been dressed so finely in all his life. The white robes he wore were made of the softest fabric he’d ever felt, and were cinched at the waist with a silk belt that was as smooth as running water beneath his fingertips. A crown of flowers sat on his head, and his normally wild curls had been washed and treated with some kind of oil that made them shine in the sun like spun gold.

And he was shaking so hard that the chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles were rattling louder than the altar boys’ tambourines.

He stumbled as the procession continued to walk through the city streets towards the square, and a priest beside him pulled him up roughly by the arm, forcing him back into line. Patton’s vision was blurry with tears, but he didn’t really need to see to walk towards his imminent doom. He was almost glad for the lack of clarity.

They reached the center of the city far too soon for Patton’s liking, and the procession came to a stop. Two priests took Patton by the arms and marched him forward towards the huge marble altar that stood in the town square. The monument was usually a beautiful sight, with the sunlight catching the glistening stone just so and showing off the fine craftsmanship that had gone into carving and constructing the holy structure.

Patton found the sight a lot more ominous than usual on this particular morning, but he supposed that was because he was going to die here.

He did not struggle as the priests pulled him up and laid him down on the altar, though that was less because he was ready to die and more because his body had more or less gone completely numb. The altar boys who had played tambourines in the parade celebrating his death lay their instruments down and helped the priests take the chains wrapped around Patton’s wrists and ankles and secure them to the edges of the altar, where loops had been thoughtfully carved out to make securing the sacrifice easier.

Patton’s heart ached at the sight of the little boys being so casual about their work- didn’t they care that he was a person, about to die right in front of them?- but he supposed that the priests had told them it was no different from when they sacrificed bulls in the temple.

And while Patton did feel bad for the bulls at the yearly Harvest Sacrament, he’d never found anything particularly wrong with the practice.

Every year on the first morning without frost, the priests would hold a scrying in the temple to divine what sacrifice the Harvest God required for the year to be prosperous. Patton had heard stories, of course, of when the Harvest God asked for humans. There was a reason the altar in the town square had been built, after all. But in all Patton’s life, the priests had never demanded the people for a human sacrifice, and Patton had assumed that it was simply an old practice that had been done away with as society moved on. Sacrificing a bull had been the harvest tradition for longer than Patton had been alive.

Until this year, when the priests had emerged from their scrying with the declaration that the Harvest God demanded the sacrifice of one of the townsfolk, of a “youthful male, pure of heart and soul,” to be precise.

Patton had been in the market with his partners when they’d taken him.

He let his thoughts drift to their faces as the High Priest began the opening words of the ritual. To Roman’s tan skin and dazzling smile, to the way Logan’s nose scrunched up and brow furrowed when he was concentrating, to the soft fondness that Virgil had hiding just behind the exterior of his sharp gaze. He wished he could have told them one last time how much he loved them, how special they were to him and how he’d treasured every moment of time that they’d spent together.

But he hadn’t gotten a chance to properly say goodbye, and now the last image of them he had in his mind was of their shocked horrified faces, accompanied by his own screams as he’d been ripped away from them and dragged to the temple for purification.

The High Priest finished his speech, and took a long knife from am intricately jeweled sheath. Tears filled Patton’s eyes as the High Priest held the weapon high above his head, ready to plunge it down into Patton’s chest.

“Harvest God, with this soul, we appease thee,” said the priest, and Patton closed his eyes.

He was expecting pain. What he was not expecting was an angry shout from the crowd followed by a surprised gargling sound from over his head. He opened his eyes just in time to see the High Priest fall backwards off the pedestal, an arrow embedded in his chest. The temple officials all made various sounds of surprise, which only increased when a boy in dark clothes swung his way up onto the platform, followed by boy in a red tunic who quickly drew a sword from his belt.

Patton’s heart leapt with joy, then clenched with fear at the sight of two of his boyfriends.

“V-virgil,” he choked out as the youngest of his loves knelt by his head. “What are you _doing_ here they’ll, you’ll be _killed_ you have to run-”

“Not without you, Pat!” Virgil said fiercely, raising a morning star up over his head.

Another arrow flew over their heads as Virgil began hacking at the chains holding Patton down, felling a temple guard who’d been approaching from behind.

“Virge, hurry! More are coming!” Roman called from where he was fighting two priests at once, who apparently did more than just stare into bowls of incense all day based on how well they were fighting back.

The chains were strong enough to keep Patton from escaping, but they were also ceremonial, engraved and made of gold, so it only took a few strikes from Virgil’s weapon before one of Patton’s arms was free, then the other, and then one of his legs as well. Virgil raised the morning star high, but then froze, just as Patton felt something sharp and cold press against his neck.

One of the priests had apparently been clever enough to pretend to be shot by one of the arrows that still rained from overhead, and had crawled over to the High Priest’s corpse. The ceremonial knife was now at Patton’s throat, and Virgil and Roman were frozen, staring into the priests eyes.

“Don’t,” Virgil said, his voice dark and dangerous, but Patton could hear the hint of panicked desperation underneath.

The priest looked back and forth between Roman and Virgil, and for a moment the pressure against Patton’s throat lessened and he dared to hope.

“Harvest God, with this soul-”

An arrow appeared out of nowhere, lodging itself into the priest’s neck, and the man went limp. A few more inches to the left and the projectile would have hit Patton instead; the man probably assumed that whoever was firing the arrows wouldn’t risk injuring Patton to hit the priest. The priest had clearly never met Logan, or seen him shoot an apple out of a pig’s mouth at the Summers Eve feast. Virgil brought the morning star down, snapping the final chain and pulling Patton out of his stupor.

He scrambled to his feet and Virgil dropped his weapon, scooping Patton up bridal style and sidling up behind Roman.

“Go,” he urged, and Roman leapt down from the altar, the crowd of people parting away from his sword like sheep from a wolfhound.

Virgil followed suit, and then they were running through the streets so fast it made Patton’s head spin. He loped his arms around Virgil’s neck and buried his face in his chest, trying to block out everything around him.

After a few minutes of running, they had reached the city stables, and Patton barely had time to ask what was happening before he was deposited in the back of a carriage, Virgil scrambling in after him. Low voices came from outside the carriage, and Patton recognized the voice of the stable master, Dee, talking with Roman.

“-everything’s arranged. We’ll meet up with Remus at the Hearthfire Inn then go our separate ways.” 

“Are we good to depart?” came a new voice, and Patton’s heart leapt at the sound.

“Yes, everything has been arranged,” Dee said, and after another chorus of thank yous, the door to the carriage was open and Logan was climbing inside, followed quickly by Roman.

Patton could hear Dee clamoring to sit in the driver’s seat, and after another moment there was a flick of reins and the carriage rolled out of the stables, the horses cantering at a brisk pace judging by how quickly Patton saw branches rush past before Logan shut the curtains.

He turned to Patton then, and sagged in relief.

“_Patton,_” was all he managed to choke out before Patton was flinging himself into Logan’s arms.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his whole body trembling as Logan began to gently run his fingers through Patton’s curls.

Patton glanced up at Virgil, whose face was an interesting mixture of relieved and terrified, and then over at Roman, reaching out for them until they moved to join the embrace.

Roman came alongside him and Virgil pressed up against his back, effectively sandwiching him between his three loves, and Patton let out a shaky breath.

“_Thank you_,” he repeated, looking between all three of them, and Virgil nodded.

“Of course…_god_, Patton, of _course_, we weren’t about to just sit back and do _nothing,_ we could never leave you like that.”

Whatever strength Patton had left evaporated, and he broke down into sobs in their arms, overcome with all the emotions he’d been experiencing over the last few days. Fear, hopelessness, despair, all giving way into a bone deep exhaustion that Patton couldn’t fight any longer.

Soft, comforting murmurs surrounded him, accompanied by gentle, soothing touches to his arms, his face, and his hair. He let himself cry, for how long he wasn’t sure, but eventually the sobs quieted and he let himself just be held in their arms, savoring the feeling of each of them pressed against him.

“I…I think I want to sleep for a bit,” he said quietly, and a murmur of agreement came from someone, he wasn’t sure who.

“I shall take first watch,” Logan said, leaning down to kiss Patton on the forehead. “The rest of you may sleep.”

“Sounds good, Specs,” Roman said, and Virgil was already closing his eyes and burying his face in Patton’s neck.

Roman let an arm fall around Virgil’s shoulders before closing his own eyes. Patton looked up at Logan, who gave him a soft smile.

“Rest, Patton,” he said so quietly that Patton almost _felt_ rather than heard the words as his eyes drifted closed. “We’ll be right here with you.”


End file.
